Transfigured Hearts 29: Then Face To Face
by MrsTater
Summary: Remus feels himself softening to the persistent assertions of his friends that he is as entitled to that life as he always believed he was. The only problem is that the only life he wants is with Tonks,and she has, at last, refused to see him.
1. Part One

_This story follows **A Game of Chess**in the **Transfigured Hearts **series and is set before and during chapter twenty-nine of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_. _Yes -- chapter twenty-nine is the one with the infamous Hospital Scene. _

_Many thanks to **Godricgal **for letting me ramble to her about these ideas, for supporting me through the writing, and for her stellar beta work. As always, concrit is much appreciated._

* * *

**Part One**

His tailbone was numb from sitting so still for so long on the hard wood floor, but that did nothing to quell the pain of the iron bedstead pressing into his spine. His discomfort was exacerbated by the tension he created in his own body. It focused in his bent neck and rounded shoulders, and extended down his arms to end in his white-knuckled fingers; they were locked together, clutching his legs to his chest as he restrained himself from emptying the contents of the room to protect it from the wolf that soon would tread its floorboards.

That protection wasn't necessary. At Hogwarts he'd never done anything of the sort, had never given a second thought to spending the night in his office. He needn't worry about transforming in one of Grimmauld Place's spare rooms. Last month's rage in the Shrieking Shack had not been the wolf, but the wizard.

The human wizard whose reflection stared back at him from the mirror.

The skinny, grey-haired, blue-eyed, completely unremarkable looking man who soon would become an enormous, shaggy beast with fangs, claws, and amber eyes.

From moonrise to moonset he would have a wolf's body, but he would keep his own mind. Any actions would be motivated by Remus Lupin's emotions and performed with Remus Lupin's conscious thoughts.

Tonks had seen to it.

She would not see him, but she had not given up on him, not even after witnessing the aftermath of his rage last month. No one had done, even though his negative traits were all human.

Even though the ill he'd done this year seemed to outweigh the good.

_Why_ had they not given up?

_Relax_, she'd told him before the last full moon.

He was trying to take her advice tonight. He hadn't thought to bring a book for distraction. He probably didn't have the concentration for reading anyway. He'd tried listening to a comedy programme on the WWN, but the words whispering through his mind -- Tonks' desperate tones, Arthur's calm reasoning -- created a cacophony with the voices crackling over the wireless, and he'd had to switch it off.

All week his conversation with Arthur had replayed in his mind and preoccupied him.

_There is a Potion, and there is the Order. Why talk as if there weren't?_

Why, indeed? Hadn't Remus himself once told Harry Potter that the Potion made him a harmless wolf? He'd known then that he would not keep his Hogwarts post forever. That was why he'd hoarded his salary, so he could obtain the Potion and continue being harmless for as long as possible. And now Tonks was brewing it…

Everything had changed. Not circumstances. Him. He had allowed himself to change, by all accounts.

They seemed to believe he could change back.

Throbbing temples brought Remus to the realisation that he was gritting his teeth. His shoulders ached, and his neck was stiff, as though he'd slept on it awkwardly; the bedstead was probably bruising him. He hurt all over, and he hadn't even changed yet. Morning would be agony if he was already like this. He would pace, he wouldn't sleep. Like that full moon last year, when he'd anticipated Tonks' first morning visit.

_Just let me help you relax._

His feet slid forward, the chipped varnish of the floorboards scratching slightly against the soles, as he unlocked his arms from around his knees and stretched out his legs. He sat up straight, away from the footboard, shoulders back and loose, and rolled his neck in slow circles.

What would have happened if he'd taken Tonks' advice before the last transformation? What would have happened if he'd let her stay to continue their daft, but effectively distracting, conversation about Dementor terminology?

Would he still have raged against himself?

Would she still be waiting for him to make the next move?

What _would _his move be? He had to make one -- this state of limbo was agony.

The trouble was, no matter what he chose, the problems would not change.

_Last year it had been easy to forget_, he'd told Arthur. To forget he was so much older, that he was unemployed, that the wolf _could be _a monster. _You make me forget_, he'd told Tonks -- no, _accused _her -- the night he ended it. _I can't forget. I've got to be careful and alert, or people could get hurt. You could get hurt. Letting you go is the one human thing I can do._

He'd tried so very hard not to be selfish, only ever out of the desire to give her everything. Yet everyone seemed to see the act of letting her go as an imposition of himself on her. And Remus could not deny -- he had only to look at her and see that he had not only failed to give her everything -- he had taken everything instead.

_We trust her to know what's best for her. _

But _did _she know? Was he so wrong to question? This was, after all, the same Tonks who'd made him fall just a little bit in love with her because of her wide-eyed naiveté: _"Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles? I suppose it varies, just like with wizards?" _

Tonks was bright and intelligent, but could she know what it might mean to bind herself to a Dark Creature?

Remus studied his reflection again, noting that the angles of collarbones, ribs, and hips, usually thrown into sharp relief by the flickering lamplight, were softening into the lean, but healthy, frame he'd had before the mission. The lines of his face were still pronounced, and he was so very peaky -- but then, minutes before moonrise was hardly the time to try and decide whether he'd aged this year.

His own face faded as Tonks' loomed in his mind's eye. Thin. Colourless. Unsmiling. If he went back to her, would shechange back? Would her vivid youth return?

_You might hurt Tonks, if you're with her._

Would this be Tonks again in ten years, working herself into a shadow of a woman in order to support him…their children…? Would she go grey before her time, and have a face etched with lines she could not morph away?

Would she look at him with sad, dull eyes that said: _I see now what you meant. Why couldn't you have gone on being a noble prat?_

Or worse: _Why did you let me fall in love with you at all?_

Her eyes might say that now, for all he knew. She still had not come to see him; tonight's Potion had come by owl. Arthur could be wrong about her leaving any decision about the way forward to him.

All this wavering…this hope Remus had allowed to spark and not snuffed out, could be for nothing.

His temples pounded again, and at the same moment he realised that he'd drawn up his legs again and was running his fingers over the set of irregular indentations just above the back of his knee.

The bite.

His cursed wound.

Had Tonks seen it? They'd not been intimate, but she'd found him naked after more than one bad transformation. Surely her curious eyes would have wandered, searching for the scar.

She should have seen it. They'd discussed marriage. For all intents and purposes, they'd been engaged. He ought to have shown her. He ought to have shown her everything. Every doubt, every fear.

His head fell back, crown pressed against the iron behind him. He needed to talk to her. They were more than overdue. If they had talked before they'd dreamed of a life together, their own sense might have awakened them before the war had -- and more gently.

Or it might have spared them. If only he'd been sure she knew what she was getting into, then maybe…

He'd been so afraid of burdening her that he'd never considered the alternative. Surely the weight of _not _knowing was just as great for her, if not greater. Certainly he understood that now. His shoulders slumped as though pressed down by a physical force.

_Relax._

He stood and stretched, and drew deep breaths as he turned away from the mirror.

Out the window, a beam of white light broke over the roof next-door.

The full moon was rising.

Remus' body went rigid as the first onset of transformation ripped through him.

It was a strange sensation to know that his bones and muscles were breaking and tearing, to have every inch of his body tense with the recollection of how excruciating the pain was without the Potion, yet not to feel anything now except his heart pulsating wildly with the effort of pumping blood through his changing body, and the intense strain of expectation.

When the ruddy light in the room faded to dull yellows and greys, and the neighbourhood scene beyond the window to muted blues, he knew he was peering through lupine eyes. Yet the transformation had only just begun.

He blinked as a wisp of cloud swirled suddenly and swooped downward toward the rooftops. It shimmered as it spiralled into a distinct shape, headed straight for his window.

_Oh dear Merlin -- not a cloud. _

_A Patronus. _

_Not tonight…He couldn't be needed tonight…Didn't they know he was useless tonight?_

He opened his mouth in a curse, but his throat was no longer formed to produce human sounds, and his teeth were the wrong shape for speech. His ears rang with a raw sound of frustration. He raised his hands -- disfigured and less dexterous now, with thickening nails -- and awkwardly balled them into fists, with the urge to beating them against windowpane.

Before he could, the messenger passed through the glass as though no barrier were there. Remus' arms fell to his sides as the Patronus hovered nose-to-nose with him. Or rather, snout to snout; out the corners of his eyes, he could see his own nose and chin protruding as his face shifted into a mirror image of the great canine visage before him.

His pounding heart stood still.

The werewolf Patronus opened its mouth, baring opalescent fangs.

"Relax, Remus."

Tonks' voice was soft, a warm breath on his face, with the effects of a Draught of Peace.

"Don't fight it."

Remus' contorting body obeyed, though his habit was to remain standing -- a defiant man -- until the transformation was complete. But now, with the werewolf spirit nuzzling him, blessing him with tranquillity, Remus bent to touch his useless fingers to the floor as they fused into the shorter toes of a paw.

He did not watch the course grey fur protrude from his skin, but instead his keen eyes followed the Patronus as it loped and bounded -- elegant, beautiful, always shimmering. It wagged its tail, emanating a happy serenity that took Remus back to long ago full moons, romping with Padfoot in the Forbidden Forest. Something behind him quivered, and flicked against his hind leg. He glanced back, neck long and flexible now, and saw a grey tail wagging in response. Laughter welled up inside, and he released it as a short bark.

The silver wolf pounced toward him, nuzzling again as Remus circled with it.

"I love you, Remus Lupin," came Tonks' voice.

He found himself before the mirror, staring at himself in wolf form, the transformation complete.

He thought back to last month, when the most vicious hatred he had ever felt had filled him with a wholly human instinct to destroy. Now he felt no such rage.

There was no monster in the spare bedroom of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. There was only a wolf.

A harmless wolf, with the docile mind of a human being.

The glass reflected the spirit messenger leaping through the window. Remus whipped his head around, and he howled as he watched the shimmering werewolf figure swirl into the starry sky, disappearing against the bright white light of the risen full moon.

He looked back at the mirror, and touched a paw to the glass. He was Remus Lupin.

Nymphadora Tonks loved him.

He dropped onto his belly and rested his head on his paws. He meant only to lie quietly and think.

Instead, suddenly exhausted, but deeply calm, he slept.

* * *

_**A/N: Not much time since the last update, but I wanted to get this penultimate installment of the Transfigured Hearts series posted before the Half-Moon Rising Fic Jumble kicks into high gear at MetamorFicMoon. I'll post the conclusion to this by the middle of next week. **_

_**To ensure Remus continues to rethink the value of a noble prat, everyone who reviews this chapter will have the opportunity to send Remus a full moon message via Patronus. What will yours say?**_


	2. Part Two

_Many thanks to **Godricgal **for her invaluable help with this very critical moment in the **Transfigured Hearts** timeline. _

* * *

**Part Two**

Birds squawked and flapped, rustling the trees as the crack of Apparation startled them into flight.

The instant Remus materialised on the road to Hogwarts, he saw that the birds weren't the only creatures surprised by sound of his arrival. A few yards ahead of him on the road stood a slight, brown-haired witch cloaked in dark robes.

Nymphadora Tonks whipped to face him, wand at the ready.

As her gaze lit on him, her wand hand fell to her side, disappearing into her wide, draping sleeve. "You didn't Apparate straight to the gates?"

Her voice cracked a bit, as though with strain, but it could have been because she'd spoken over a distance. But as Remus approached and met her dark eyes, they darted away.

"Fancied a walk," he said, trying not to read anything into her furtiveness, which he was tempted to interpret as regret about the message she'd sent last night.

She wouldn't be waiting for him to catch up if she thought she'd made a mistake.

_Unless she wanted to tell him it had been._

"It's such a pleasant evening," Remus continued quickly, "and since we will be cooped up inside all night on patrol…" He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing his fringe out of his eyes. "I always find fresh air is good for a think."

"So do I." Tonks glanced up at him with a slight smile as he caught up to her and they fell into step. Again, surprise laced her expression.

"Wotcher, Remus," she said softly.

"Hello. It's…" He dropped his eyes, suddenly ashamed. "It's been a while."

Tonks gave a vague _hmm_. He heard Arthur's frank voice: _"She's leaving it up to you."_

Remus drew a deep breath. "How have you been?"

Tonks caught her lower lip between her teeth, and a small but deep crease furrowed between her eyebrows. "Keeping busy."

She quickened her pace, as though to underscore her clipped syllables. There had been a catch in her voice this time, Remus was sure, despite the detachment of her words; he knew, as she drew away from him, face hidden, she was battling for control of her emotions. If she was, indeed, leaving it up to him, then he was, no doubt, disappointing her.

_She loved him. _

He ought to thank her for brewing his Potion in the midst of all her duties -- the extra duties he'd driven her to take on.

But everything caught in his chest and created a tight, suffocating sensation.

"Yes," he said flatly. "I've noticed."

His head drooped a little further forward, fringe falling into his eyes. He did not push it back. In his peripheral, he saw her dart a furtive glance at him. Why couldn't he tell her that he missed her, that he was sorry, that he was so grateful, that _he loved her_?

He could.

He'd said much more difficult things to her. Hurtful things. _These _words would heal. They would open up complex issues again, but he _must _say them.

He _wanted_ to say them.

In a couple of strides he matched her again. Shoving his hair back, he began, "Tonks, I've--" as she, at the same time, asked, "How are you?"

If they'd had no history together, they might have shared a breathy, half-shy chuckle. As things were, the question hovered thickly. They'd been so close. It was criminal that they were reduced to this. Because of him.

Even as the thoughts tumbled pell-mell through his mind, Remus opened his mouth in an automatic reply of _fine_. Just in time, he bit it back. Now was not the time for pat answers. Now was the time for truth.

"I'm…" The one answer that resounded in his mind seemed equally trite. He turned to her and, hoping he could convey how deeply it was felt, said, "I'm well. Today."

Tonks looked up at him again, eyes squinting slightly in scrutiny, then widening again with surprise, and something else he couldn't identify. Hope? His own heart quickened at the prospect.

"You look well," she said. "_Very_ well, the day after…" She looked away as her face went tomato red. "I mean…"

She stumbled, and her arms flailed. Remus caught her elbow to steady her.

"Thanks," Tonks muttered. "It's just last month--"

"I did not handle the last full moon well," Remus said for her, sparing her the struggle for tact, where none was merited.

She cast him a grateful look before he allowed his hand to slide away. Immediately Remus wished he hadn't let go. Somehow, it seemed easier, more appropriate, to be touching her when he said what he must. His fingers opened and closed at his side.

"Last night was very peaceful," said Remus.

He stopped resisting impulse, raised his hand, and laid it on Tonks' shoulder as he stopped walking. It rose as she inhaled sharply. She felt very thin as his long fingers curled over her shoulder, covering it completely. Oddly, though relief smoothed her lately lined features, her eyes did not flicker as he'd expected them to.

"I have you to thank for that."

Tonks' mouth fell open, and her eyebrows knit even as she dropped her gaze.

Remus shifted his weight. Why did she look like a person who'd just run into an old acquaintance she was wracking her brain to remember?

"Your Patronus," he elaborated quietly, "has a soothing effect."

It took a moment of her studying the ground very hard, but at last comprehension dawned on Tonks' face. "My werewolf." Her voice was barely a whisper, and Remus almost missed it. She was very pale.

Now it was Remus' turn to feel perplexed, and whatever it was inside him that had burned with nervous expectation -- and hope -- last night, promptly extinguished and sank, leaden, into his stomach.

She had not intended her Patronus as a sign. She had sent it as a messenger only. Not that Remus wasn't touched by her concern, by her love, but…

Silently cursing himself for creating his own symbol and attaching his own meaning to it, he turned and strode briskly ahead of her. They had a patrol tonight, he reminded himself as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his robes. Now was not the time to discuss their relationship.

He heard Tonks' boots scuffing on the gravel as she hurried after him. "I'm so used to it," she panted, "I forget sometimes it's not the one I always had." Her shoulder brushed his as she caught up, though her shorter legs made two strides for every one of his. "I'm sorry," she said softly, eyes on the path again. "I know you didn't want to see it."

Remus' gait slowed. She was talking about Christmas, when she'd offered to show him her Patronus. He'd refused, still too shocked and horrified by the revelation of how drastically their separation had affected her magic to be able to face a tainted spirit guardian. Glancing at her, he saw her cheeks dimpled in a look that spoke clearly of self-chastisement.

Though he still could not work out what to do with his interpretation of the Patronus, and he tasted the bitterness of the truth, he couldn't bear to let Tonks think she'd made him uncomfortable, when she'd done just the opposite.

And he _had _decided that they needed to talk. Though he could see the tops of the gates over the trees -- now was hardly the time…

"He's quite affectionate," said Remus. "And he…gives a peaceful aura."

For a moment Tonks' mouth hung open slightly, but slowly her face relaxed again in a faint smile, but he didn't miss her shaking fingers as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't know Patronuses could do that for anyone but the caster."

She looked at him, as though expecting him to give a lecture on Patronuses, but he didn't know what to say. The affect of romantic love upon this sort of magic was entirely beyond Remus' realm of experience.

"He's a good Patronus," Tonks said. Eyes darting sidelong at him, she added, "Not surprising, since he's you."

Remus faltered, but forced himself to keep walking.

It was impossible, after having seen and felt the comforting presence of Tonks' spirit guardian to continue believing that its form meant it was a corrupted protector. But _him_? He had abandoned her, rejected her, hurt and failed her at every turn this year. How could _he _be her protector?

"Remus," Tonks' voice -- raw, pleading -- broke into his thoughts. "Will you ever stop denying what this means?"

"I'm not -- I mean…" Beside him, her footsteps rapidly crunched the gravel. Remus had not realised he'd quickened his own pace. He didn't slow, even though she was puffing beside him, fairly trotting to keep up. "I don't know what to think."

Tonks stopped behind him. Remus glanced over his shoulder. She froze him with a glare, then barrelled past him.

"Have you forgotten our first date?" she flung back.

"We picnicked in the park near St. Mungo's," Remus said, following slowly. "I told you about Neville Longbottom's boggart. You laughed so hard you cried. Your makeup ran down your face, but I…" His words caught in his chest, stopped by the lump that had lodged suddenly and painfully in his throat. But he felt his lips twitch into a smile. "I thought you were the most beautiful witch I'd ever had the good fortune to go out with."

At the gates now, Tonks pulled up short, shoulders stiff and thrown back in defiance. Then she heaved a sigh, her small body sagged, and she leant against them.

"Madam Pomfrey saw us," she said with too much calm for it to be genuine, "and you got funny about what she thought of us."

Remus hung his head. He nudged a random red pebble with the worn toe of his shoe.

"Do you remember what I said to you?" she asked.

Remus looked up to find her facing him, arms folded across her chest.

"I think too much."

"Stop thinking."

Eyes downcast again, Remus saw her boots marching toward him, stopping so close that her robes swished against his. He tucked his chin further in as she turned her face up to his.

"Stop thinking about what other werewolves are like and every worst case scenario and all the bloody reasons why you shouldn't be with me, and look me in the eye and see who _you_ are and all the reasons that you _should_."

_"I don't see how your situation's changed," _Arthur had said.

Was the change in Remus' perception? Had he _created_ the change?

"Remus -- look at me."

He'd known from the beginning that he'd nothing to offer her except the assurance that he would treat her well, and be faithful, and show his love to the best of his ability. Wasn't that all she'd ever asked for? Couldn't he believe that was enough -- and _would be_ enough?

He would do it. He would look into her eyes and see love and trust and forgiveness…

…when a resounding crack split the air, and he and Tonks span to see Bill Weasley.

His hands reached round the back of his head, tightening his long ponytail which gleamed like polished copper in the rosy glow of the setting sun. "'Lo Remus, Tonks. Ready to patrol?" He flashed his wide, handsome grin. "Bit like Prefect days again, eh?"

"I wouldn't know," said Tonks, turning on her heel and flicking her wand toward the gates. "I'll let Hagrid know we're all here."

Remus vaguely noted that she was shooting him a _we're-not-finished_ look, but he merely nodded absently at her.

He could not take his eyes off the beautiful, silvery werewolf bounding over the castle walls.

* * *

Dumbledore, dead. 

Remus had collapsed into a chair when Ginny and Harry first relayed the horrible news. He reeled again now as Arthur received it.

Dumbledore…_dead_.

For an instant, Remus considered the impulse to take Tonks' hand, to lean on her for the support he knew she would offer, as she had a year ago, when it was Sirius who'd died…He'd been too afraid of burdening her to accept…

The notion was driven from his head as Molly, dear Molly, who all year had encouraged…

…harped…

…nagged him to pursue the woman he loved, tearfully declared her own son unable to marry.

One did not have to be a monster, like Fenrir Greyback, to be ostracised. One did not have to be a full werewolf at all, like Remus Lupin.

They were all tainted, and cut off.

Remus could not deny how very brave Fleur was to defy Molly, or how his heart constricted with wanting Tonks to do the same--

She was shaking his robes, resuming their conversation as though it hadn't been interrupted by anything, much less _Dumbledore dying_, begging him to lift his eyes from the floor and look at her and see that she didn't care, either, _she didn't care_.

Dear Merlin…She was all he'd ever wanted. Someone whose eyes he could look into, and see--

He couldn't. He could not meet her eyes, not now. He would be lost if he did, would be unable to resist the arms she would open to him. He was too vulnerable now, too off-balance. He hadn't known before the battle whether he could be with her, and the battle had changed _everything. _It would be so easy to turn to her for comfort…He nearly had done after the werewolves savaged the Montgomery child…The comfort of her hands, her lips would not have changed a thing then; nor could it do now.

He'd told her a million times…He was too old for her, too poor…too _dangerous_…

He was not being ridiculous. Molly was the one changing her opinions as rapidly as Tonks used to change her hair, and Tonks was the one who stubbornly refused to see--

In his peripheral, he saw Fleur's silvery-gold hair falling over Bill as she dabbed ointment on his wounds. His cursed wounds. Inflicted by Fenrir Greyback.

A dangerous man, with the feral mind of a wolf.

Remus Lupin could never do that.

Even last night, in wolf form, he had remained himself -- _human _-- and could never do that.

_He_ was the stubborn one. He didn't deserve her.

She wanted him anyway.

_Wanted him._

_Chose _him -- over the young, and the whole.

She was looking at him. They were all looking at him, and he could not meet their eyes. Not now.

This…really was not the time to discuss it. Dumbledore was _dead_.

But…

Dumbledore _would _have been happier than anyone to think there was a little more love in the world.

Blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles. No matter how many times Remus failed him, Dumbledore still looked upon him with those kindly eyes, and given him another responsibility, and wished him well.

As a wizard.

As a man.

Minerva's voice again broke into his thoughts, this time addressing Hagrid about Heads of Houses, pulling herself together to cope with what must be done now, in the aftermath.

As she and Harry exited the Hospital Wing, Remus heard a disembodied request to escort the children back to their dormitories.

He looked up.

His eyes met Tonks' dark ones…

…and held.

There was clarity in her earnest expression. The understanding he read on her face was mingled with something else:

_Hope_.

The smouldering ember inside rekindled.

In that moment, the million conversations and fragmented thoughts and feelings that pitted heart against mind and ran too deep to give names to, came together and were consumed…

…_burned_…

…until nothing remained but one, new thing:

Remus knew what he had to do, knew what was right.

"Help me, Nymphadora?"

Her eyes shone.

Love for a wizard. Trust in a man.

Forgiveness for failure.

Another chance.

He had much to put right and sort out.

If tonight had taught him anything, it was that now was the time to discuss it.

_The End_

* * *

_**A/N: Next up, the last installment of the Transfigured Hearts series, which answers the question: What happens between the hospital scene and the funeral to make Tonks' hair go pink again?**_

_**There will be a bit of delay before I conclude Transfigured Hearts, due to a month-long fic challenge at MetamorFicMoon at LiveJournal. I'm planning on a multi-parter with, um, pay-off. Lots of payoff. :grin: Until then, know that I really do appreciate each and every one of you who have followed Transfigured Hearts. Your support and feedback have been tremendously encouraging. I'm just a bit flummoxed that what I thought would be five or six short fics has turned into what will be thirty stories, some short, some multi-chaptered. I'm fairly certain the series never would have grown to such proportions without y'all. Thanks for making this so much fun for me, and helping me get to know Remus and Tonks better. **_

_**Since at this point it would be a little cruel to poor Tonks to offer anybody but her a Remus, reviewers get the opportunity to help Remus figure out how to get that hair pink again.**_


End file.
